


Noscitur A Sociis*

by Sunfreckle



Series: Modern Means Less Miserable [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Enjolras, Bisexual Grantaire, But this does deal with having a (first) romantic relationship while being ace, Couch Cuddles, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Getting Together, Healthy Communication, Healthy Relationships, In a positive way but there necessarily are some issues, M/M, There are also near sentient cars and hot cocoa and wildlife documentaries though, supportive friends, there will be no angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-09 17:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13486563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Sunfreckle
Summary: “But we’refriends,” Enjolras groans, exasperated. “OfcourseI like him. He makes me laugh, he makes me see things differently…” His tone grows more and more frustrated. “He has a nice face. I like his eyes. And the way he grins while resting his chin on his fist. And the way he sort of…contorts his face when I make a joke he wasn’t expecting…”Courfeyrac watches the slightly glazed, happy look that diffuses the frustration on Enjolras’ face for a moment. That sure looks like being in love to him...[Part of the Modern Means Less Miserable universe, but a completely self-contained story.]* "Noscitur a sociis". Legal latin for “it is known from its associates,” or: the meaning of an unclear or ambiguous word should be determined by considering the words with which it is associated in the context, meaning that it is subject to the interpretation of the involved parties.





	1. Cocoa and Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for my sister, beta and in this case, very involved story consultant, whom I have loved for as long as I remember being alive. <3

Courfeyrac is on the phone with his uncle, wandering aimlessly through his apartment, when the doorbell rings unexpectedly.

“Is that on your end or mine?” his uncle asks.

“Mine,” Courfeyrac says, trotting to the hallway.

“Alright, I need to get back to work anyway,” he hums. “Let us know how your interview went, will you, Burbujas?”

“Will do!” Courfeyrac chimes. “Bye!”

When he opens the door, it’s Enjolras standing in the corridor.

“Hi!” Courfeyrac says, pleasantly surprised. Because no matter how often he tells Enjolras to just drop in whenever, his friend can usually not resist sending at least a text to ask if it’s convenient. Cheerfully he steps aside and Enjolras comes in.

“Hi,” he says in reply, sounding oddly subdued. He quietly accepts Courfeyrac’s greeting hug before asking rather cautiously: “Is Marius home?”

“No,” Courfeyrac shakes his head. “What do you need him for?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras says. “I just thought this might be easier without him around.” He looks up and adds hastily: “No matter how much I appreciate his helpfulness.”

Courfeyrac raises his eyebrows. That sounds rather ominous and that’s saying something, since Courfeyrac has known Enjolras for about fourteen years now. “Ok...” he says cautiously. “Does that mean you need _me_ to be helpful? Or distracting?”

“Preferably the first,” Enjolras says, a faint smile passing across his face.

“Well, I’ll do my best,” Courfeyrac says brightly. “You look like you need hot cocoa, I’ll make us hot cocoa.”

In all honesty neither of the two motives Courfeyrac has to make hot cocoa have anything to do with Enjolras’ looks. The first is that he bought marshmallows yesterday, which makes hot cocoa kind of an inevitability, and the second is that he wants to give Enjolras the opportunity to talk to him under the comfort of pretended employment. That usually works.

It doesn’t seem to be working this time though, because Enjolras wanders idly through the kitchen while Courfeyrac is heating the milk and hardly say a word.

“Is there something specific you need me to be helpful with?” Courfeyrac prompts gently, measuring cocoa powder.

“I’d rather explain when you’re done,” Enjolras says tensely.

So much for that tactic. Courfeyrac really is beginning to wonder what this is about. If it’s something that Enjolras _isn’t_ willing to rant about while pacing through the kitchen…

A few minutes later they are both supplied with hot cocoa and seated on Courfeyrac’s sofa. Enjolras stares at the marshmallows floating in his cup.

“So,” Courfeyrac says kindly.

“So…” Enjolras mutters.

Since that seems to be everything he has to say at that moment, Courfeyrac patiently pushes his melting marshmallows around with his spoon. He can talk for hours, but he’s also pretty good at cultivating comfortable silences when he has to. He looks up when he hears his friend take in a deep breath.

“Grantaire-” says Enjolras with the air of a man about to lay out a complex argument.

Courfeyrac’s eyes widen just a little. It’s been months since Enjolras and Grantaire had any issues that needed friendly intervention. Actually it’s been _ages_ and Courfeyrac had really hoped—

“-is in love with me,” Enjolras finishes.

It takes Courfeyrac a considerable amount of effort to keep his face straight, but he manages. Just about.

“Yes,” he replies carefully. “I think it would be safe to say that he is.” To be perfectly honest he’s baffled that Enjolras has never brought this up before, but nowhere near as baffled that he _is_ bringing it up now.

“I thought he would stop being in love with me,” Enjolras says, slightly agitated. “Eventually.”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac sighs, leaning into the couch a little more. “Well… sometimes that doesn’t happen.” He knows a thing or two about that first hand.

Enjolras makes a noise at the back of his throat that Courfeyrac can’t quite place. Might be frustration. Might be agreement. Could even be surprise. But it’s clear that Enjolras has more to say, so Courfeyrac waits. The earnest, blue eyes look up again and Enjolras says, in strange, pained way:

“I don’t want to be his boyfriend.”

“I know,” Courfeyrac says mildly. “And R knows too. It’s okay, Enj. You don’t have to reciprocate his feelings. R doesn’t expect you to. Real friendship is worth just as much, you know.” He means that, he really does.

“No, you don’t understand,” Enjolras says urgently, colour rising into his cheeks. “I don’t want to be his boyfriend…but I do want to be with him.”

This time Courfeyrac does _not_ manage to keep a straight face. He’s glad he put the cup of cocoa down during Enjolras’ second speech, because he definitely would have spilled some if he hadn’t. The idea of Enjolras and Grantaire actually getting together makes him a little lightheaded. In their own, unexpected way they are so incredibly good together. And if Enjolras really— Oh Grantaire would be so _happy_. Courfeyrac genuinely hasn’t got a clue what to say to this though. For as long as he’s known Enjolras and through everything they’ve talked about, helping Enjolras work through _romantic_ feelings is something he has never been able to practice with. Eventually he settles for keeping quiet and giving his friend an earnest, interested look. God knows Enjolras usually needs less encouragement to keep talking. This seems to have been the right choice, because after a moment of conflicted silence Enjolras starts up again.

“Grantaire makes me feel…different,” he explains solemnly. “Not like those descriptions people usually give about being on fire or not being able to breathe or something like that. But when he smiles I wish he’d never stop and when he comes in looking sad I can’t concentrate until I know what is the matter and whether I can do something. He smells nice. His voice is…good, hearing it makes me feel good. Just knowing he’s somewhere near makes me feel good…”

Courfeyrac listens to Enjolras carefully list off feelings he is having trouble even describing and wonders if it is absolutely necessary for his friend to keep looking him straight in the eye all the while. He can’t help but smile though, because even when wrapped in a layer of frustrated confusion Enjolras is still all earnest intensity.

“So you don’t know if you’re _in_ love with him, but…you love him,” Courfeyrac supplies when Enjolras finally falls silent.

“I love all my friends,” Enjolras says sincerely and Courfeyrac smiles.

“And I love you too, Enj,” he says. “But you’re not talking to Grantaire about how you don’t want to be _my_ boyfriend, so…” A slightly uncomfortable thought pops up in his mind. “Tell me to shut it if this is unfair, but, could it be because he is in love with you?” he asks, cautiously.

“I thought it was!” Enjolras exclaims. “That makes sense right?” He fixes his eyes on Courfeyrac with renewed intensity. “But that shouldn’t…” He pushes his hair out of his face. “I don’t think that anymore. I do love you all, but I love R…differently? I think? Not more,” he hastens to add and Courfeyrac smiles again. “But different.”

He looks a lot more miserable than Courfeyrac would expect him to be under these circumstances. It’s not like Enjolras has to be afraid that Grantaire won’t—

“And I feel like I should be _doing_ something with this,” Enjolras bursts out. “But I can’t tell any of this to R! It wouldn’t be fair. _I_ don’t even understand this, how can I possibly expect him to?”

Courfeyrac agrees that R might not understand it, but he’s not convinced he would care about not understanding it. The words ‘I love you’ or even ‘I love you differently’ coming out of Enjolras’ mouth would probably be enough to stop Grantaire caring about a whole lot of things.

“But,” Enjolras continues sombrely, “not saying anything seems just as dishonest.”

“First of all,” Courfeyrac says firmly. “Not confessing feelings you are not ready to confess is _not_ dishonest.”

Enjolras looks at him quietly, because he can listen with as much intensity as he can talk.

“But if you _did_ want to talk to R…what do you hope would happen?” He looks inquiringly at Enjolras, who shifts uncomfortably.

“I…I want things to stay as they are…except…not.”

Courfeyrac waits patiently while Enjolras goes through a range of complicated facial expressions.

He sighs. “That is why I didn’t say anything before,” he says, rubbing his temple. “I’ve felt this before, or something like it, but I don’t want…” He sighs. “The whole boyfriend-relationship thing just doesn’t sound appealing at all.”

“It’s not that bad,” Courfeyrac smiles.

Enjolras pulls a face. “Joly sighing and moping all afternoon because Musichetta is too busy to text him? Marius talking of _nothing_ but Cosette for entire evenings at the time?” He pulls a face. “Bahorel and Risa just-” He waves his hands around. “-forgetting what they are talking about in the middle of a sentence and sucking on each other’s faces.”

Courfeyrac snorts. Those are rather extreme cases, at least the last too, but fair enough. “Okay,” he says. “So you don’t want that. What _do_ you want? With R I mean.”

“Nothing?” Enjolras exclaims almost frantically. “Just…exactly what we do now…except…more of it? I don’t know-” He gives Courfeyrac a helpless look. “I don’t know what I want, just that I want it.” He groans. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Makes as much sense as most romantic feelings,” Courfeyrac says. “Eh, they are romantic, right?”

“I guess so?” Enjolras says uncertainly. “How would I know?”

“Well, you said you like his smile, his voice, that being around him makes you feel good, that he _smells_ nice,” Courfeyrac points out. “I’m sure you don’t feel that about everybody?”

“No,” Enjolras admits. “But I do about you and Combeferre…and Feuilly…and-”

“Alright,” Courfeyrac interrupts him, a tad impatiently. “But that’s n-” He frowns and loses his train of thought. “You think I smell nice?” he asks, temporarily distracted.

“Yes, I do,” Enjolras says earnestly. “You always smell a little sweet. I think part of it is that oil you put in your hair to keep it from frizzing.”

Courfeyrac blinks and fights the urge to pull Enjolras into a hug. “Thank you,” he says, grin tugging on the corners of his mouth.

Enjolras shrugs, smiling a little embarrassedly.

“Okay,” Courfeyrac says, recovering himself. “What else then?”

“About R?”

“Yes, Enjolras, about R,” he says, repressing the urge to throw in a fond roll of his eyes. “Tell me more about what you like about him.”

“But we’re _friends_ ,” Enjolras groans, exasperated. “Of _course_ I like him. He makes me laugh, he makes me see things differently…” His tone grows more and more frustrated. “He has a nice face. I like his eyes. And the way he grins while resting his chin on his fist. And the way he sort of…contorts his face when I make a joke he wasn’t expecting…”

Courfeyrac watches the slightly glazed, happy look that diffuses the frustration on Enjolras’ face for a moment. That sure looks like being in love to him. It feels like it too. Looking at Enjolras sitting there, it genuinely does. “Look,” he says gently when Enjolras trails off again. “If R is happy to be your friend while being in love with you, he’ll be more than happy to be more than friends with you. Even if you’re not sure how much more.”

“But that isn’t fair,” Enjolras shakes his head. “That would be incredibly selfish of me! To just have the sort of…relationship _I_ want, and not what he wants.”

“Have you asked him what he wants?” Courfeyrac asks.

Enjolras bites his lip. “R has had girlfriends,” he says. “And boyfriends.” He sighs. “And flings.”

Courfeyrac wants to laugh at the word ‘flings’, but instead he says: “Yeah, but it didn’t work out with any of them, did it?”

Enjolras makes a dejected sound.

“Look, regardless of what he wants or doesn’t want. R’s not going around finding people to sleep with now, is he?”

Enjolras looks mildly mortified.

“Your affection doesn’t have to come with a giant ‘I won’t have sex with you’ disclaimer, Enj.”

“That’s not- I know it doesn’t. It’s just, if I’m going to tell R I should at least have something to say about what I do want.”

“You said you want to be with him,” Courfeyrac smiles. “That’s a good start.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras says, unconvinced.

Courfeyrac pulls his feet up under him on the sofa and thinks of how Grantaire is around Enjolras and how Enjolras is around Grantaire. He thinks he understands. Enjolras wants to make his own definition for their relationship, but then he does need something to define… Sometimes it isn’t quite enough to know something is special. You want to be able to point at something and say: ‘that’s one of the things that _makes_ it special.’ Besides, Enjolras with all his convictions and ideals, cannot be very used to not knowing what he wants.

“I thought they’d go away,” Enjolras agonizes. “The feelings.”

Courfeyrac opens his mouth.

“ _My_ feelings,” Enjolras clarifies. “Which is why I thought I should wait it out until _his_ feelings went away. But they didn’t and now I don’t think I want them to anymore.” He swallows and continues hoarsely: “And saying _nothing_ seems dishonest and saying _something_ seems unfair and _why can’t I figure this out?_ ”

“You don’t need to, not all at once at least,” Courfeyrac says soothingly. He had no idea Enjolras was walking around with all this. He wonders if Combeferre knows.

Enjolras groans and lowers his head into his hands.

Courfeyrac reaches out to pat the mess of blonde hair and suddenly his face lights up. “Enj! Do you remember that time the three of us went to visit your parents?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras says, looking up with a small smile. It had taken ages before both he, Courfeyrac and Combeferre managed to get the timing right to make the trip together.

“Well,” Courfeyrac says. He’s trying to keep the excitement in his voice down, but he has just remembered a night not too long ago when Enjolras had a little too much to drink and… “You know how we watched that documentary and you cuddled up with your mom?” he continues.

“Yeah…?” Enjolras frowns.

“And she said you should learn to cuddle people as well as hug them, because you clearly didn’t get enough cuddles.”

Now there’s a slight red tinge to Enjolras’ face. “Where are you-”

“That time Jehan messed up the cocktail recipes and you got drunk-” Courfeyrac interrupts him.

“I wasn’t drunk,” Enjolras protests.

“You nearly fell asleep on Grantaire,” Courfeyrac says accusingly.

Enjolras’ cheeks burn bright red and Courfeyrac beams at him.

“Enjolras,” he says, looking his friend straight in the eye. “Do you want to cuddle Grantaire?”

“Yes?” Enjolras says after a moment’s silence.

Courfeyrac bounces up until he’s sitting on his knees. “Do you want to cuddle _me_?” he asks, energy rising.

“No?” Enjolras says, still doubtful. “I mean, if you wanted me to I’d-”

“Would you _rather_ cuddle Grantaire?” Courfeyrac says, rolling his eyes. Really, this shouldn’t be quite this difficult. Then again, _he_ only has to deal with this second hand, it must be much worse for Enjolras.

Enjolras is looking less frustrated though. He looks flustered instead, but under the circumstances that might not be a bad thing. “Yeah,” he says, rubbing at the back his neck. “Yeah, I’d rather cuddle Grantaire.”

“Yes!” Courfeyrac cheers, stretching his arms above his head. “Then tell him that!”

“What?” Enjolras says, eyes widening. “I want to cuddle you? What kind of confession is that?”

“A good one,” Courfeyrac grins. One Grantaire will be delighted to hear at least. He counts on three fingers: “I love you as a friend but I also love you differently. I want what we have now but more of it. And I’d like to cuddle if you’re cool with that.”

Enjolras bites his lip again. “That doesn’t sound…” he trails off uncertainly.

Good enough? Convincing enough? Courfeyrac isn’t worried. Not when it comes to Grantaire. “It’s the truth, Enjolras,” he says emphatically. “You can’t be dishonest or unfair when you’re just telling the truth.”

His friend is wavering, Courfeyrac can see it. There is a frown on his forehead and a blush on his cheeks. Courfeyrac can hardy sit still. This has to happen. Now he knows, he’s not going to let it go. If Enjolras chickens out this time he’ll find another way to make it happen.

Suddenly Enjolras takes in a deep breath. “You’re right,” he says and he straightens up. “You’re right,” he repeats. “I’ll tell him that.” He smiles at Courfeyrac with a sudden and amazing composure. “Thank you, Courf. I’m so glad you’re my friend.”

“Wait, just like that?” Courfeyrac splutters. “You’re really going to tell him?”

“Yes,” Enjolras says, a little puzzled. “Like you said, it’s the truth, I shouldn’t be afraid to say it.” He sighs a little. “If it’s not enough for Grantaire I’ll understand,” he says seriously. “But at then least both of us will know.”

“Yes!” Courfeyrac cheers and he throws himself forward, hugging Enjolras round his neck. “When will you tell him?”

“As soon as I can,” Enjolras says, hugging him back with some difficulty, since Courfeyrac won’t hold still. “Believe me, I don’t want to walk around with this any longer.”

“Yes, of course,” Courfeyrac says, drawing back with a grin so wide it is almost painful. He has to stop himself from offering to call Grantaire over right now. Courfeyrac really hopes Enjolras will talk to Grantaire before he sees him again though, because if he doesn’t Courfeyrac is not sure he’ll be able to keep a straight face. On second thought, no, he definitely won’t be able to keep a straight face. “It’ll be great,” he beams. “I know it will!”

“Thanks,” Enjolras says with a smile. He looks over at the side table. “Oh, we forgot our hot chocolates. And you put marshmallows in and everything. I’m sorry.”

“Never mind that,” Courfeyrac waves it away. “Are you going to try meet with him now?”

“I might…” Enjolras considers. “I’m pretty sure he has class today…which means there’s a fifty percent chance of him being at home.” He gets to his feet. “I guess I could call him, or stop by, I’ll see what feels better.”

“Yes!” Courfeyrac chimes. “And when you do, you will tell me what happened, right?”

“I will,” Enjolras smiles.

“Good,” he beams at him, following him to the door. “Good luck!”

Enjolras has his hand on the doorknob when Courfeyrac stops him.

“Hey,” he says warmly. “I’m glad you came to talk to me. That you felt you could I mean.”

“So am I,” Enjolras smiles. “And of course I do, you’re my oldest friend, Courf.”

“One more thing,” Courfeyrac says. “When you talk to Grantaire-”

“Yeah?” Enjolras asks, a flutter of nerves passing over his face.

Courfeyrac gives him a serious look. “Do not start the conversation with the words ‘I don’t want to be your boyfriend’. “ _Or_ ‘you are in love with me’ for that matter.”

Enjolras grimaces. “I wouldn’t do that,” he says, a little indignant.

“Just making sure,” Courfeyrac says fondly, patting him on the shoulder.

Enjolras rolls his eyes and steps out into the corridor. Courfeyrac watches him leave and waves him off with the excitement nearly boiling over inside him. As soon as Enjolras is gone he pulls out his phone and sends ten texts to Combeferre in the space of two minutes. For eleven agonizing minutes there is no response and then his phone starts buzzing like it’s about to combust.


	2. Cars and Communication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains anxiety on Enj’ part about being ace and what that means in a relationship, of course everything is going to be absolutely fine, but I did want to give a heads-up.

Grantaire’s car shouldn’t be able to drive, but it does. It breaks down every week, but whenever that happens Grantaire just digs through its insides until he finds the part that’s acting up, prods it, and it starts working again. Right now it’s obediently allowing itself to be parked in front of Combeferre and Enjolras’ apartment building. Grantaire steps out and fails to slam the door shut behind him.

“Come on,” he mutters and he tries again. The door bounces off the latch. Grantaire kicks it. The door closes. “Good boy,” he hums. Luckily the car locks on the first try and Grantaire crosses the pavement and presses the button for the intercom. It creaks and Enjolras’ distorted voice asks:

“Yes?”

“Good afternoon, this is your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman,” Grantaire singsongs, leaning against the console. “Can I interest you in some spiders? They’re a staple of every well balanced diet.”

“Hi Grantaire,” the voice answers and there’s a loud buzzing noise as the front door unlocks itself.

Grinning at himself Grantaire runs up the three flights of stairs and down the corridor until he reaches the door to Enjolras’ apartment. He knocks, because their bell is insanely loud and scares the hell out of Combeferre every time someone presses it.

Enjolras opens the door and gets out of the way immediately to let him step into the narrow hallway. “Hey, thanks for coming.”

Grantaire closes the door behind him. “No problem,” he says and he shrugs off his coat, following Enjolras into the living room. He glances around uncertainly. The place is strangely tidy. Enjolras and Combeferre only tidy if they’re hosting a party, the rest of the time every available surface is usually covered with books, extracts, pictures and all the other stuff that just appears around them.

“Ferre’s not home?” he asks.

Enjolras shakes his head. “No, he’ll be home later.”

Grantaire nods, but he’s starting to get a little worried. Enjolras looks uneasy and he hasn’t said much. That’s a combination that doesn’t happen a lot. When something bothers Enjolras he talks about it. At length. With increasing volume. Well, Enjolras did call him over for no apparent reason. Maybe he needs a distraction.

“Place looks nice,” Grantaire remarks. “Not that I’d know, but…”

“Yeah,” Enjolras says distractedly. “I needed something to do.”

The idea of Enjolras tidying his apartment because he has nothing to do is nothing short of preposterous, but Grantaire doesn’t argue. Joly tidies when he gets anxious too. He’s never seen Enjolras do it, but being Enjolras all day every day is a pretty good reason to be stressed. Not that he looks stressed. Not really. A little paler than usual maybe.

“You want to take a drive in Bucephalus?” Grantaire offers. That’s about as much excitement as he can offer at the moment.

“I thought we could just hang out here?” Enjolras says, looking a little uncertain.

“Sure,” Grantaire says, kicking off his shoes. They don’t hang out just the two of them that often. But the few times they have there was always some sort of task for them to focus on. Enjolras doesn’t seem to have anything like that planned though. “Hey,” he grins, suddenly remembering. “If you get me your laptop, I’ve got another song I want to force you to listen to.”

That works. Enjolras smiles and goes to fetch his laptop. Grantaire installs himself on the couch and when Enjolras comes back he gleefully looks up Ludo’s “Battle Cry”.

“Now listen carefully,” he says with maximum solemnity. “Because I think I have found your anthem.”

Enjolras raises his eyebrows and presses play.

Grantaire sits back with a grin and watches Enjolras face as the song launches into the first chorus.

Enjolras listens with the earnest attention he gives all the things his friends want to share with him (even when he knows some of them – mostly Grantaire and Bahorel – are just messing with him.) By the time the second chorus comes around he’s frowning. “What is this about exactly?” he asks.

“Defeating the Other Guy,” Grantaire grins. He has been looking forward to this conversation ever since he discovered this song.

“ _What_ other guy,” Enjolras demands.

Grantaire shrugs, holding up his hands, and pairs it with his most annoying grin. He loves this song. It’s the most vacant call to resistance he has ever heard.

“It _sounds_ good,” Enjolras says, still frowning. “But-”

“I know,” Grantaire chuckles.

Enjolras cuts himself off to listen to the lyrics and echoes incredulously: “ _Commandeer their wives_?”

Grantaire laughs out loud at his expression. “Isn’t it great?” he snickers. “Think about it. If it doesn’t have any ideals in it you can add them in yourself. Whatever you want it to be, that’s what it’s about. A fill-in-your-own revolution.”

The look of distaste on Enjolras’ face is everything Grantaire hoped it would be.

“I think it’s _perfect_ for you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll get a karaoke version and get the others to perform it on your birthday.”

“No…” Enjolras groans, but Grantaire can see the grin in his grimace and Enjolras doesn’t stop him when he presses the replay button and begins to dramatically sing along.

Grantaire knows he doesn’t have a very good voice, but he can hold a tune and he’s not giving a concert here, he’s cheering up his friend. Whatever it might be that he needs to be cheered up from. It seems to be working too, especially when Grantaire manages to choke on one of the words in the chorus and doubles over coughing.

“Man,” he wheezes. “Didn’t think my singing was bad enough to warrant divine intervention.”

Enjolras laughs and Grantaire looks up at his face with a pleased grin. Making Enjolras laugh out loud is worth a lot and today it seems like an extra big achievement. Enjolras looks at him with a wide smile on his face and merry blue sparks in his eyes. Then suddenly they dim a little. Grantaire wonders if not asking what exactly is wrong really is the best policy here, but then Enjolras makes the decision for him.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says.

Grantaire reaches out and pauses the song. “Sure,” he says, but he is wondering if Enjolras meant that he wants to talk about something or that he wants to talk to _him_ about something. Because although it really doesn’t matter in this context, he feels like the last option definitely doesn’t happen as often as the first. “Something happen?”

“No,” Enjolras says. “Not exactly. I…” He gives Grantaire such an earnest look that now _he_ ’ _s_ getting nervous. “I don’t really know where to start.”

That’s a very relatable sentiment, but Grantaire isn’t at all used to Enjolras expressing it. “Alright,” he says uncertainly. “Well…is it about the world, about yourself, about me, or about someone else?” Maybe Enjolras is worried about one of their friends? If Grantaire did something that bothered him, he would have said so already.

Enjolras’ expression tenses a little. “It’s about us,” he says, with a sudden resolute air about him.

_Us_ … Grantaire gives a little, almost involuntary shake of his head. “Okay,” he says. “What about us?”

“You’re a really good friend, Grantaire,” Enjolras says solemnly. “And I know we haven’t always been this good together and I really love it that we are now and I do not want to jeopardise that, but – if you’d want to – I’d like to be more than friends.”

Grantaire looks at him and waits for the elaboration.

Enjolras is silent. His blue eyes are fixed on him, almost anxiously, but he doesn’t say another word.

Grantaire wants to say something, but it’s like someone has pressed a pause button on his entire thought process. “Can you…” he begins slowly. “Can you give me a little more… I’m sorry- what?” Because even though he clearly heard the words ‘more than friends’, he is a hundred percent certain that those words do not mean the same for Enjolras as they do for most other people.

“I want to be more than friends,” Enjolras repeats. “And I think that you want that too, or at least you did once, and if you still do…maybe we could try it?” He makes a slight frustrated sound. “I wish I could phrase this better, or – you know – dress it up nicer, or more romantic, but I am terrible at flirting.”

Grantaire blinks. That’s true, Enjolras _is_ terrible at flirting. But that stands to reason for a person who _does not flirt because they never like people that way_. He opens and closes his mouth a couple times, but he doesn’t want to say any of the things that pop into his head out loud. Enjolras is still looking at him though, with an expression that is now so near anxious that Grantaire feels he _has_ to say something.

“You don’t have to flirt with me,” he manages finally.

“I wish I could though,” Enjolras says. “Because you look like you don’t believe me.”

That last sentence comes out so dejected that it makes guilt flare up in Grantaire’s chest, but Enjolras is right. He doesn’t believe this. He can’t believe this. Because he fell in love with Enjolras almost the first moment he saw him and after months of stupid infatuation he has loved him for over a year now and he never did anything with it because he knew for a _fact_ that Enjolras _wouldn’t want him to_.

“Enjolras,” he says slowly. “I promise you that I would believe you over literally everyone else on this planet. But that doesn’t mean I understand.” He swallows. “What do you mean…more than friends. More in what sense?” It sounds like a question that has only one answer, but that one answer is just something Grantaire cannot allow himself to think right now. So he _has_ to ask.

“More isn’t the right word,” Enjolras replies earnestly. “Not at _all_ the right word. Should I have said romantically? I think that’s what I mean.”

Grantaire’s mind is still mostly filled with incomprehensible background noise, but his body is starting to compensate for his failing cognitive functions. His palms are tingling, his face feels hot and he might be able to hear the beating of his own heart. There’s one word in that sentence his mind can latch onto though. “You think?” he asks.

Enjolras’ shoulders sag a little and Grantaire feels like someone punched him in the chest. “I know that sounds…vague and unreliable,” Enjolras says. “But this is…new for me.” He gives Grantaire a pained smile. “I just thought, considering your feelings for me, you would want to know I have feelings for you.”

‘ _I have feelings for you._ ’ Those words did just come out of Enjolras mouth. They definitely did. Grantaire is still staring at him, but he really can’t help that.

Enjolras doesn’t look away, but his hands are fidgeting with the cuffs of his hoodie now. “But if you’d rather not change anything, I understand,” he says.

“I didn’t think changing anything was an option,” Grantaire answers lamely. “I mean, I didn’t think _you_ would want to change anything.” If he had, he would have done something, said something, at least tried to do _something_ with his feelings except put them aside and tell them to suck it up.

“Neither did I,” Enjolras mutters. His face falls. “I’m sorry if this is too late,” he says quietly. “If you’re, no longer…”

“No,” Grantaire interrupts him, feeling slightly frantic. “No I’m definitely still…everything.” He lets out a tense, breathy laugh. “Well, maybe not everything I was in the beginning, but I definitely still love you.” As soon as those words leave his mouth the static in his head turns into a high pitched screaming, but Grantaire doesn’t care because a smile just overspread Enjolras’ entire face.

“I’m… Me too,” he says emphatically, cheeks colouring happily.

Grantaire grins, incredulously, but still, he grins. It’s not a conscious choice. To be honest he doesn’t feel in control of anything right now.

“So…would you want to?” Enjolras asks cautiously. “Would you want to be with me if-”

“Yes,” Grantaire says bluntly. “Yes I do.” It has taken him months of rather depressing philosophizing and bitching to Joly and Bossuet to accept things as they are and be happy with being friends, but he will throw all of that out of the window no questions asked, if there’s actually a chance that he could make Enjolras happy by loving him. “I want to be with you,” he says. “Whatever more than friends means, my answer’s yes.”

For a moment Enjolras’ eyes light up, but then he gives him a serious look. “You can’t say yes to something if you don’t know the conditions.”

“Conditions?” Grantaire echoes and he can’t help it, he laughs. “Do you have a contract?” It’s a joke, but to be honest it wouldn’t even surprise him that much if Enjolras actually would produce a stack of legal papers.

“No,” Enjolras grimaces.

There’s an apprehensive giddiness bubbling in Grantaire’s chest that he doesn’t want to let loose yet. He buys himself a little time by running his hand through his hair and grinning at his own knees, before looking at Enjolras again and saying: “Okay, so what should ‘more than friends’ mean?”

“Well…” Enjolras says, composing himself. “First of all, that we know that we have feelings for each other.”

The corners of Grantaire’s mouth twitch upwards. “Yes,” he says. “Well, we’ve got that covered now.” He’s not sure how long it will take for it to actually sink in, but that’s a different concern. “What about other people though?” he asks.

Enjolras frowns and opens his mouth questioningly.

“Would you want to tell other people?” Grantaire clarifies.

Enjolras looks stunned. “Of course I would,” he says seriously. “Why wouldn’t I? Would _you_ not want to tell people?”

“Honestly, I’d be fine with either,” Grantaire shrugs. He doubt he’d be able to hide his feelings from anyone, but that would hardly make a difference, everyone knows how he feels about Enjolras. They just politely don’t draw attention to it. In the back of his mind Grantaire is amazed at himself, because he should be a mess off feelings right now and his heart is still struggling to get back into a normal rhythm, but evidently his actual emotions haven’t caught up yet. Because he is being way too rational right now.

“I feel like telling people is important,” Enjolras says, calling him back to attention.

“Okay, so what do you want to tell them?” Grantaire asks. Come to think of it, that’s probably one of the most annoying things to figure out.

Enjolras seems to agree, his face is full of conflict and disapproval. “All the words people use for this are so-” He shrugs uncomfortably. “Terms like boyfriend and girlfriend or even significant other come with so many complicated expectations.”

“Then we don’t call it that,” Grantaire says. Enjolras does have a point there though. “But on the subject of expectations…”

“Yes?” Enjolras says quietly.

“I suppose…that’s probably something we need to talk about,” he says. If he really has a shot at this, he needs to get it right. That means knowing how he can be with Enjolras in a way that makes him happy.

“Yes,” Enjolras agrees, but he doesn’t continue.

Grantaire frowns slightly. “I feel like jerk saying this, but it’s probably easier to get straight what you do and do not want than to start with whatever I might want?” That’s not what’s important here anyway.

A nervous smile flashes across Enjolras’ face. “Fair enough,” he says.

He looks more nervous than Grantaire has ever seen him. Mostly because he is so quiet. When Enjolras is nervous for a big test or a public speaking event he usually mutters to himself or silently pulls faces like he’s giving his speech already.

“Okay…” Enjolras begins slowly, rubbing his hands over his knees. “So the sex thing is…not my thing.” He looks at Grantaire and makes a strange noise. “Maybe I should try listing the things that I think might be my thing?” he suggests.

“Sounds good,” Grantaire says. He hates that his voice sounds strained. He wish his heart would stop trying to break his ribs from inside his chest.

“Right,” Enjolras says, steadying his breath.

“Wait,” Grantaire stops him. “Are you nervous because you’re nervous or because you think I’m going to throw some allosexual fit any minute now?”

Enjolras snorts and actually lets out a laugh, which is an intense relief. “I know you wouldn’t throw a fit,” he says.

“Hey now,” Grantaire says. “Me throwing a fit is a very real possibility-” Enjolras’ mouth twitches and Grantaire grins. Then he softens his voice a little: “But it wouldn’t be about your boundaries.” In an impulse he reaches out and takes Enjolras’ hand. He does it very cautiously, but Enjolras lets him and squeezes back gratefully. “I promise.”

“ _This_ is what I want,” Enjolras blurts out and to Grantaire’s surprise his face is actually turning pink. “I really don’t want things to suddenly be completely different. I _like_ what we are now, but…” He straightens his shoulders and, still holding onto Grantaire’s hand says: “I want to be with you. I want you to know that I love you differently than I love my other friends. I want to do more of all the stuff we do already. Plus…this.” He glances down at their hands.

Somewhere during that oddly rehearsed sounding speech, Grantaire started smiling and now he can’t stop. “I can definitely do everything we usually do with a side of hand holding,” he says.

“And other things like it?” Enjolras suggests.

“Not a problem,” Grantaire nods. He kind of wants to laugh. Partly because all this sounds so improbable it might be a joke, but mostly because his mind and body are finally catching up to one another and he’s dangerously close to being insanely happy. “Whatever you want, really.”

“It shouldn’t just be about what I want,” Enjolras points out.

“No,” Grantaire says. “Ok, I get that.” He is trying to sound a little more serious, but the happy swirls inside him make that rather difficult. “So…what kind of ‘things like it’?”

“Cuddling?” Enjolras says, sounding shy and mildly frustrated with himself at the same time.

For the first time it occurs to Grantaire that most words and descriptions for this kind of thing can mean an incredibly wide range of things.

Enjolras is looking down at their hands now and playing with Grantaire’s fingers.

If he wasn’t trying very hard to form words into sentences, Grantaire would be staring at their hands too. Because Enjolras is holding his hand. And playing with his fingers. He swallows and says: “Can I presume everything below the belt is off limits?” Making use of the temporary lack of eye contact.

Enjolras nods gratefully, lifting up his eyes.

Good, they’ve got that out of the way. “Alright,” Grantaire grins, quickly shifting focus. “So what kind of cuddling are we talking? Joly and Bossuet levels? Marius and Cosette levels? Courfeyrac and basically everyone for as long as he can hold still levels?” He leaves out Bahorel and Risa. They don’t so much cuddle as violently try to occupy the same space.

Enjolras pulls a face. “Maybe we can find our own kind?” he says, smiling slightly.

“Sounds fun,” Grantaire agrees. It doesn’t sound fun. It sounds unreal. It sounds amazing. It also sounds like Enjolras is still weirded out by all of this and Grantaire thinks that must be on his account. That is really the last thing he wants, so he leans back, careful not to retract his hand from Enjolras’ grasp and says with pretended thoughtfulness: “I wonder if you can copyright a style of cuddling.”

“Probably not,” Enjolras says with a slightly wider smile. “Unless you claimed it was some form of performance art.”

Grantaire presses his free hand to his chest and pulls a dramatic face. “Enj, we would _make_ it an art.”

That earns him an actual grin.

“Do you like having your hair stroked?” he asks and he’s very pleased with how neutrally curious his voice sounds, because his feelings about running his hands through Enjolras’ hair are anything but neutral.

“I love having my hair stroked,” Enjolras replies, cheeks growing a little redder again.

“That,” Grantaire says solemnly, “is going to make our brand of cuddling _so_ much better.”

Enjolras laughs and lets go of Grantaire’s hand to hide his face in his hands for a second. “This is weird,” he says, looking at Grantaire after dragging his fingers down his face. “I mean, I’m happy, but it’s weird. I’m sorry I’m making this weird.”

“Why do you get to take all the credit for making it weird?” Grantaire protests with a smile. “Equal shares.”

“It is kind of my fault we even have to have this conversation,” Enjolras points out.

“Yes it is,” Grantaire agrees. “And I also think that most of my previous relationships would have gone a whole lot better if they started with a conversation like this. Maybe with a slightly different subject, but still.”

Enjolras hums thoughtfully. “That’s weird too,” he says after a while. “I’m twenty two and I’ve never done any of this before,”

“I’m twenty four and neither have I,” Grantaire replies with a shrug.

“You’ve had relationships before,” Enjolras contradicts.

“Yeah but I’ve never done _this_ before,” Grantaire says, gesturing vaguely into the air. “And there’s no such thing as ‘a relationship’. There’s people and your relationship with them and it’s never the same.”

Enjolras nods. “It’s a stupid way of saying it anyway,” he says. “Saying ‘we’re in a relationship’. Like you don’t have a relationship with all the other people around you.”

“True,” Grantaire agrees. “Is there any way of saying it you do like?” They never really figured that part out earlier.

“I like the phrase ‘we’re together’,” Enjolras says after a short silence. “Because that’s what it’s about. Right? Being together. At each other’s side. Because that where you want to be.”

Grantaire swallows. “Yeah,” he says. “That sounds good.” Suddenly focussing on practicalities seems like a rather safe option and he asks: “What about touching your neck?”

“That’s kind of linked to the hair thing, isn’t it,” Enjolras hums.

“Doesn’t have to be,” Grantaire shrugs. “Some people hate it when you touch their necks.”

“No, that’s fine,” Enjolras says. “Not my throat though.”

“No that usually belongs to a different set of activities,” Grantaire snorts.

Enjolras’ smile wavers.

“Okay,” Grantaire says seriously. “That was a _joke_. Please do not take my jokes as passive aggressive comments. Cause they’re not meant to be. Ever.” If Enjolras is going to take comments like that seriously that will mean a whole new world of anxiety for him.

The smile is back. “I won’t,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire sighs and lets his head fall back onto the seatback of the couch. “Half of me is too happy to think, the other half feels like we’re defusing a bomb together.”

“Relatable,” Enjolras says dryly.

Grantaire looks at his slightly contorted face and snorts. “We’re a mess,” he says. Then, because why the fuck not, he throws one arm up on the arm rest and says: “Do you want to-?”

Enjolras slides down the couch until he’s sitting right beside Grantaire, their legs touching, and leans back against his arm. Grantaire’s heart is no longer racing, but it feels like something is buzzing just underneath his skin. It’s not unpleasant. Absolutely nothing can be unpleasant while Enjolras is leaning against him, but is making it rather hard to concentrate.

Maybe Enjolras is experiencing similar distractions, because they are both quiet for a while.

“Would you be okay with this kind of thing in public?” Grantaire asks at length.

“Yeah, would you?” Enjolras says, turning his head.

“Definitely,” Grantaire smiles and he’s smiling straight into Enjolras’ face, which is very close. He really doesn’t want to ask…

“I really don’t know about kissing yet,” Enjolras says, quietly and seriously.

“Ok,” Grantaire says softly. “Let me know when you do?”

“Absolutely.” He puts his head against Grantaire’s shoulder.

Grantaire exhales slowly. The happiness and the incredulity inside him are still at war. The incredulity is losing, but it’s not going quietly.

“This is nice,” Enjolras mutters.

Understatement of the fucking year. “Yes,” Grantaire agrees quietly. Enjolras has never been this close before. Not for so long at least. Enjolras gives great hugs, but he’s not like Jehan or Courfeyrac, who like to drape themselves around people to show their affection. Well, except that one time a while ago where Jehan insisted on making everyone cocktails and Enjolras ended up slightly drunker than usual. Or a lot drunker. That night had started with him profusely explaining to everyone present how much they meant to him and it had ended up with him slumping against Grantaire where he was letting Chetta paint his nails and nearly falling asleep on him. That was an… interesting memory in light of recent developments. Back then his reaction had been halfway divided between ‘fuck my life’ and ‘please someone film this, he is actually muttering into my shirt’. Now he’s wondering for how long ago Enjolras started to gradually return his feelings and why he never said something until now.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks, still keeping his voice down. Enjolras’ head is right beside his anyway and this really feels like a hushed voices moment.

“Hm?” Enjolras hums.

“How long have you…” Grantaire doesn’t want to make him feel like he blames him for not telling him sooner. “I just wondered.”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras says honestly, lifting up his head to look him in the eye again. He sits up a little straighter, but tries to do it without putting more distance between them. “Honestly, I don’t know. It wasn’t a sudden thing… and for a long time I didn’t know what it was, and when I did, I thought it would go away again and if I told you and it did go away that would be...”

Grantaire nods.

“And then…” Enjolras sighs. “Then I just didn’t know what to do about it, or with it, or what I even wanted, or if you’d-” He smiles. “I didn’t think it’d go like this…”

“Better or worse?” Grantaire asks.

“Much better,” Enjolras says, smiling a little wider. Suddenly he looks a little apprehensive. “I don’t mean I expected you to be worse,” he says hastily. “It just didn’t seem very fair of me to expect you to just say yes. To be honest I thought you’d at least need more time.”

“Yeah, no I don’t,” Grantaire grins.

Enjolras smiles. It’s the warm, glowing smile he usually has on his face when their whole group is gathered around a table playing games or telling stories. Grantaire loves that smile and this time it’s only for him. Yeah, it’ll be a while before he gets used to this. If he ever does. Enjolras looks so happy that he really just wants to hold him and be happy too, but there’s a thought that started forming a while ago that has now grown big enough to be in the way. And if he’s going to make this work, if he’s going to give this thing a real chance, there can’t be anything in the way. He swallows and begins:

“Enj, I _am_ cool with this, all of it, I really am-” He’s trying not to make it sound like there’s an enormous ‘but’ about to drag that whole sentence down with it, but he knows he’s failing so he just blurts out: “But I’m probably still going to _want_ to have sex with you. In a ‘I don’t really want this because I know it isn’t an option, but my mind’s still going to go there’ kind of way. I won’t act on it and it’s _not_ going to be a problem. But…I guess it’ll still be there.”

Enjolras is giving him a quiet, attentive look that is very hard to read.

Grantaire swallows. “So…as long as you don’t mind that…”

“Why would I mind that?” Enjolras asks. “It’s not like you can help those feelings.”

“Why would I be upset that you _don’t_ have those feelings?” Grantaire retorts.

Enjolras considers this. “Fair enough,” he says. He smiles and puts on a pretend solemn voice: “R, I hereby give you permission to think about me whatever you want.”

A nervous laugh escapes Grantaire’s throat. “Thanks,” he says. “Can we also agree to pretend I’m not thinking about it?”

“If you like,” Enjolras laughs. “I really don’t mind though.”

“No, but it’s still weird,” Grantaire grimaces. “Wanting things another person doesn’t want seems worse than not wanting things that another person does want.”

“Yeah, I’d beg to differ,” Enjolras says, pulling almost the exact same face.

Grantaire makes a sympathetic noise. In a way he’s probably right, as far as society is concerned at least, but between the two of them…

“And…what if I do want one of those things?” Enjolras suddenly says. “Even if it’s like…once a year. Or once ever?”

Grantaire looks at him. The apprehensive look is back and it’s paired with a blush this time. He clears his throat. “Then we pray like hell that I’m in the mood for the same thing at that moment?” he says. “And if I’m not we’ll have unequivocal proof that the gods are either dead or bastards?”

Enjolras blinks at him and then bursts out laughing. Grantaire laughs along, because laughing together is way better than being anxious together and the happiness inside him is feeding off the look in Enjolras’ eyes. Still snorting, Enjolras wraps his arms around Grantaire’s neck and buries his face in his shoulder. Grantaires wraps his arms around him and pulls him a little closer. His hair is in his face but he doesn’t care.

“I’m…this is…nice,” Enjolras mutters into his neck.

Grantaire closes his eyes for a moment. This is real. All of it’s real. He wants to tell Enjolras he loves him again, but for some stupid reason that feels like jinxing it. “Hey,” he mutters into Enjolras’ hair. “Want to watch tv and stay like this until Combeferre comes home?”

“Yes,” Enjolras says and Grantaire can feel him smiling against the fabric of his shirt. “I really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for those who’d like to know, my sister informs me physical movements cannot be protected by copyright in France, following the Bikram Yoga cases.
> 
> I really hope the love outweighed the anxiousness in this chapter, I lost track of the number of times I edited this one.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Caterpillars and Cuddles

Enjolras watches Grantaire scroll through Combeferre’s ‘recently watched’ on the tv with an oddly tight feeling in his chest. It’s not that his heart is beating faster, it’s just that he can feel it pumping pressure through his entire body. He’s still leaning against Grantaire, who is warm and comfortable and really does smell very nice, but a moment ago he was relaxed and now he’s not.

Grantaire clicks his tongue and holds down the scrolling button on the remote. “Stay when,” he prompts.

“When,” Enjolras says. At least his voice comes out normal.

Grantaire releases the button and looks at the selected title. “The Secret World of Caterpillars,” he snorts. “Well, the universe has spoken.” He presses play.

“The universe wants us to learn about caterpillars?” Enjolras asks. He needs to calm _down_. There is literally no reason for his body to jitter like this.

“Clearly,” Grantaire nods gravely and when the voiceover begins he adds: “We should memorize at least two facts. Ferre will be so proud of us.”

Enjolras smiles distractedly. Combeferre doesn’t even know Grantaire is here. Actually, he doesn’t know about any of this. He was home so late last night that Enjolras didn’t have an opportunity to talk to him. This is not the sort of thing he wants to talk about over text. But maybe he should give him a heads-up? Combeferre should be home in an hour or two… Enjolras reaches into his pocket, but his phone is not there. Oh, right, he put it aside because it kept buzzing with Courfeyrac’s not at all subtle ‘just checking’ messages. Enjolras hesitates. Should he go get his phone? That would mean getting up. Grantaire has his arm wrapped properly around Enjolras’ shoulders now and the weight is nice. Enjolras is taller than him but Grantaire is so much broader. He’s soft and steady to lean against… Maybe if Enjolras gets up now, Grantaire will think that he doesn’t like this. That’s the last thing Enjolras wants him to think. Especially after-

“This is highly disappointing,” Grantaire breaks into his thoughts.

“What?” Enjolras asks, a knot tightening in his stomach.

“So far I’ve seen only two caterpillars,” Grantaire points out. “ _Two_. This documentary contains a disproportionate amount of butterflies.”

Enjolras exhales. “Oh, yeah,” he mutters.

Grantaire looks at him. “You ok?” he asks uncertainly.

“No,” Enjolras says and the spike of frustration released by that word finds its way straight to the anger that’s been simmering just out of reach. “No I’m not and that is _ridiculous_.” He sits up so he can look at Grantaire properly. “I’m freaking out and doubting myself and that’s just such _bullshit_.”

Grantaire doesn’t respond, he just looks at him and Enjolras waves his hands about angrily. The tightness in his chest is gone now. Being angry feels _good_ , way better than being anxious at least. The only downside to it is that Grantaire is no longer holding him.

“We literally _just_ talked about what we want and agreed that we’ll work it out as we go along, because _that’s_ how much we want to be together,” he snaps. His cheeks burn saying that, but he can pretend that’s just anger as well and he keeps going: “And here I am afraid of sending the wrong damn signals and not because of anything you did, but because I have had toxic societal norms about what relationships are supposed to be forced down my throat for twenty two bloody years!” He lets himself fall back, slumping into Grantaire a little harder than he meant to, but Grantaire clearly doesn’t mind and his arm is immediately wrapped around Enjolras’ shoulders again.

“That is kind of messed up, yeah,” Grantaire says, drawing him a little closer still.

“It’s not kind of messed up,” Enjolras fumes. “It’s a disgrace. I literally just got what I’ve wanted for _months_ and I won’t even let myself be properly happy about it!”

“Yeah…” Grantaire says slowly. “But at least you have a good reason.”

Enjolras looks into Grantaire’s face and the flicker of repressed anxiety makes him forget himself for a moment. “Don’t devaluate your own feelings like that,” he says urgently. “We all get screwed over by internalized societal bullshit.”

Grantaire hums. In the background the tv is chatting away happily about life cycles.

“I mean,” Enjolras says indignantly, drawing his feet onto the couch. “I get told I’m cold-hearted, Courf gets told he’s a flirt-”

“Courf _is_ a flirt,” Grantaire points out affectionately.

“Yes, but that shouldn’t be an insult,” Enjolras says discontentedly. “He shouldn’t feel guilty for being affectionate. Just like I shouldn’t feel guilty for having a relationship with you on terms that we just _mutually_ _discussed and agreed upon_.”

Grantaire chuckles slightly at his exasperated tone and Enjolras leans more heavily into him. Maybe angry cuddling can be a thing.

_“…it will take about a day for the cocoon to-”_

Enjolras gives the TV a distracted glance. Cocoons… His mind makes a leap. “And this is _me_ ,” he bursts forth. “ _I’m_ anxious about this and I was brought up by incredibly supportive parents, surrounded by amazing friends. And somehow this is still an issue for me!”

“Now who’s devaluating their own feelings,” Grantaire says softly and he shifts his weight so Enjolras can lean into him even more.

“No,” Enjolras protests, following his movement and nestling against Grantaire without even thinking about it. “I just mean…can you imagine how bad this must be for people that _don’t_ feel accepted? Or that haven’t been allowed to figure out what they want yet? And every day in every damn book, movie and tv show they have to see the same crap with a big ‘everybody wants this’ label slapped over it.”

“Yeah…” Grantaire says.

He sounds a little low and Enjolras wants to stop before he brings the whole mood down, but the words just get away from him. “There’s nobody _here_ ,” he says hotly. “It’s just _us_ and it still feels like there’s some judgmental faceless thing going: you really think _this_ is going to work?”

Grantaire is looking at him with a frown that’s half resigned and half a reflection of Enjolras’ own frustration.

Enjolras makes a vexed sound at the back of his throat. “This _my_ house,” he says angrily. “My own damn house.” He shouldn’t have to worry about his feelings being policed in his own private space.

With a frustrated grunt he lets his head fall sideways against Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire doesn’t say anything and just when Enjolras begins to wonder if he nudged Grantaire into one of his rare philosophical silences, he feels a tug at his hair. Grantaire’s hand is suddenly resting at the back of his neck and he begins to gently scratch Enjolras’ head, weaving his fingers through his curls. Enjolras closes his eyes. His thoughts go silent.

_“…uses it’s colours as a defence mechanism rather than a…”_

“I wasn’t trying to make you shut up,” Grantaire says softly after a while. “I just didn’t know what to say in reply.”

“I’m shutting up because I want to,” Enjolras clarifies. He still hasn’t opened his eyes. The movements of Grantaire’s fingers make pleasant shivers trickle down his spine and it’s like he’s tugging the frustration out of his mind with every tug on his hair. “I’m… I like this,” Enjolras mumbles.

“Ok…” There’s a smile in Grantaire’s voice and Enjolras feels a sudden burst of happiness at the thought that that smile, that tone of voice, is meant just for him. Just for this moment.

_“…uses its wings to generate…”_

Enjolras opens his eyes. A multitude of coloured wings is scattered across the screen. “There really are more butterflies than caterpillars in this,” he observes.

“I know,” Grantaire says with mocking indignation. “This thing better deliver in the second half, or I’m writing a letter to the editor.”

“Producer,” Enjolras says, grinning slightly.

“Editor,” Grantaire says decidedly. “Angry letters are for editors.” He’s still scratching Enjolras scalp and Enjolras really hopes he won’t stop. Ever.

Twisting his shoulder slightly, Enjolras puts an arm behind Grantaire’s back and tries to find a place to put his hand. It ends up on Grantaire’s hip. Grantaire makes a humming sound that Enjolras guesses is appreciative.

“Is my hair in your face?” he asks softly.

“If me saying yes means that you’ll move, my answer is no,” Grantaire mutters.

Enjolras feels a jolt in his stomach again, but it’s not unpleasant this time. He’s smiling before he realises it. Silently he reaches out with his free hand and smooths his hair down a bit. His hand brushes against Grantaire’s, which is still tangled in his curls, and there’s another jittery jolt in his middle. Still ridiculous considering Enjolras is practically hugging him around the waist, but he can deal with this kind of ridiculousness. He’ll have to, because Grantaire just leant his head against his a little and Enjolras’ entire midriff vibrated for a second. It might have kept going actually because now he just feels like there’s a constant humming inside of him.

_“…crowding together in a nest of up to three dozen caterpillars from the same hatching…”_

“ _Finally_ ,” Grantaire says dramatically.

Enjolras snorts. All the resentment is gone. There’s simply no room for it inside of him right now. He can’t remember the last time he was this comfortable. The humming is comfortable. Holding Grantaire is comfortable. The slow, gentle head scratches are more than comfortable. And that faceless figment of his imagination can fuck right off.

“Hey,” Grantaire says softly.

“Hm?”

“About words…”

Enjolras smiles. “Yeah?”

“Would you call us a couple?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras can literally hear his mother’s voice in his head, delightedly asking: ‘Sure, but a couple of what?’ and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. He likes that term though…and he likes the idea of being a couple. “Yeah,” he says. “I would.”

“Then-” Grantaire says with an odd sort of happy restraint in his voice. “-we’re a couple watching tv together.”

A couple watching tv together… Enjolras smiles. “I guess we are,” he says. They’re a couple. They’re together. Because Grantaire wants to be with him. Just like he wants to be with Grantaire.

Grantaire makes a happy, incoherent sound that reflects exactly how Enjolras feels inside. They both watch a long string of oak processionaries march across the screen.

“Okay,” Grantaire says. “Now I feel like I’m getting my money’s worth.”

Enjolras laughs and he can feel Grantaire’s head move so he looks up.

Grantaire is looking at him with a very wide grin on his face. “Would it be rude for me to ask you to pinch me?” he smirks. “I’m still not fully convinced this is happening.”

 _He’s_ not convinced. Enjolras turns around, wraps his other arm around Grantaire as well and squeezes.

When Enjolras turned towards Grantaire his face flushed for a moment, but now he’s laughing. “I think I feel something vaguely pressuring,” he says, pretending to be thoughtful. “I wonder what it is.”

Enjolras squeezes harder, but he feels Grantaire tense his abdominal muscles in near effortless defence. There’s no way Enjolras can match Grantaire’s strength, so he changes tactics and abruptly digs his fingers firmly into the muscles of his lower back.

Grantaire yelps and kicks at nothing with his feet. “Dishonourable conduct!” he rasps, squirming in Enjolras’ arms.

“Convinced?” Enjolras laughs, refusing to let go. His heart is racing, but in the best way possible.

“Mercy,” Grantaire pants and Enjolras relaxes his grip.

They’re really lying on the couch right now. More next to each other than on top of each other, but still. For a moment Enjolras considers getting up, but Grantaire looks so _happy_. Enjolras rolls a little more onto his side and rests his head against Grantaire’s chest. Which is possibly the best thing he has done so far, it really might be. Enjolras relaxes against him and Grantaire gently moves his arm until Enjolras feels his hand hover over his head. Apparently he can’t quite reach the nape of Enjolras’ neck in this position. Very gently Grantaire strokes though the loose waves on top of Enjolras head. Enjolras hums appreciatively and the strokes become more confident. The next sound that leaves Enjolras’ lips is luckily drowned out by the tv.

_“…which is in fact repulsive to most predators…”_

“This is a really long documentary,” Grantaire observes.

“I don’t think it is,” Enjolras smiles. “But I don’t know about your sense of time, but mine’s rather m-”

There’s a rattling of keys at the door and they both look up. Combeferre. Enjolras completely forgot.

The living room door swings open and Combeferre walks in, searching through his bag. He looks up. And freezes.

“Hi,” Enjolras says, sounding as apologetic as he can without moving from his spot. Because he is not moving. No way.

Combeferre looks at them silently for a moment. Then he says, very calmly: “You realise I’m going to have to take a picture, right?”

Enjolras can feel Grantaire’s soundless laughter.

“You have a say in whether I send it to everyone or just Courf,” Combeferre says, taking out his phone. “But the picture is non-negotiable.”

Enjolras pulls a face, but he’s at least halfway smiling by the time Combeferre takes the picture. Combeferre is smiling too. He’s smiling so wide his cheeks are pushing his glasses up. Come to think of it, he doesn’t look surprised in the least.

“Courf told you didn’t he,” Enjolras remarks.

“Maybe,” Combeferre says, still looking at his phone and still smiling like mad. “Shall I send this to you as well as to Courf?”

“Please,” Grantaire grins and Enjolras rolls his eyes.

Combeferre lowers his phone and his eyes meet Enjolras’ for a moment. He’s glowing. Enjolras smiles at him. He’s thankful for his friends every single day and that still doesn’t seem like he appreciates them enough. Without saying another word Combeferre disappears to his room.

Grantaire’s phone pings and he pulls it out to look at the picture. He holds it out for Enjolras to see. It’s nice. Really nice.

About two seconds later a notification pops up on the screen:

* **Courf** _has changed the cover picture for_ **Absolutely Bestest Companions** groupchat*

Enjolras sighs. “He didn’t-”

“Yeah he did,” Grantaire says, opening the notification.

There they are, cuddling on the couch, for all their friends to see. Enjolras smiles, warm and comfortable and humming with happiness.

“Put your phone on silent,” he advises, putting his head back on Grantaire’s chest.

“I think I just might do that,” Grantaire grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Or rather, the beginning of my (and my sister’s!) vision for Enj and R’s romantic relationship. I really hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> If you want to read more of my Enjoltaire, I collect fluffy ficlets that this is the origin story for [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12445182/chapters/28321380).
> 
> Thank you for reading, please tell me what you thought <3

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](https://mysunfreckle.tumblr.com/about), come say hi!


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